


December, I Remember

by Ahigheroctave



Series: Kaleidoscope [1]
Category: Glee
Genre: F/F, F/M, Multi, New Years
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-12-30
Updated: 2010-12-30
Packaged: 2017-11-17 13:29:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 876
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/552066
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ahigheroctave/pseuds/Ahigheroctave
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They say you spend the whole year the way you started it. She doesn't know how to feel about that.</p>
            </blockquote>





	December, I Remember

Darren Zimmerman throws his annual New Years Bash. More aptly, it’s an excuse for people like Santana to get tipsy and make good use of the guest bedrooms. Most unfortunately, as the golden couple (quite literally) she and Sam are practically required to attend.   
  
She’d be lying if she said the reason that ring is on her finger is because she’s in love with him. She’d be lying if she said he meant as much as Finn had to her. No-one’s asked though, minus one Rachel Berry, and everyone knows when she speaks you aren’t really required to answer. Especially not if you’re the perfectly coiffed head cheerleader who’s risen back above the ranks to claim her rightful spot at the top. Especially not if you’re living in a denial land.   
  
Sam is whisked away at the party almost instantly. He gets her a beer (which of course she’d never drink, the sip she takes doesn’t taste anywhere as good as strawberry wine coolers) and she finds herself alone in a crowded sea of waiting STDs and unwashed boys who are trying to get a look up her cheerleading skirt. Briefly, Brittany sweeps by and hugs her rather tipsily (she pretends that groping was by accident) and then she’s just wandering the house looking for a familiar head of blond hair.   
  
She’s got one foot in the kitchen where she sees a curl of black ponytail rested against a broad, tall shoulder. She thinks it must be the one sip of 4% alcohol that’s making her ache. It must be, it has to be, because it can’t be the goofy smile on Finn Hudson’s face as his arm curls around Santana Lopez’s shoulder or the way she whispers into his ear seductively (the same way she used to with Puck, with Matt, with everyone else). The feeling spreads thin on her stomach, making the whole of it gurgle before flipping it upside down. She thinks she might be sick.   
  
She runs out into the backyard, clutching at her belly, waiting for it all to come bubbling up. It doesn’t though, the only thing that springs out is tears. They cascade from her perfectly lined eyes and run down her cheeks, resting on that clammy, fleshy part of her neck she can’t get rid of. She hates the way it feels when it’s wet, she hates everything: Santana, Finn, her stupid boyfriend who would rather quote Avatar and get to third base than try to get to know her at all. All she wants is to rewind to the start of the year. She would give anything to be independent again, to put Santana in her place, to have real friends.   
  
“Quinn?” She feels her ponytail whip against her neck as she whirls around, face-to-face with a familiar pair of brown orbs. She already wishes she could take back this moment, to go on pretending this boy doesn’t exist. That last year never happened and there was never a Beth or a Shelby or a Noah Puckerman who claimed to be in love with her.   
  
“Go away,” She croaks, hugging her arms to herself. Suddenly she remembers it’s cold in midwinter Lima, especially when the wind is chapping your tear-stained face.   
  
“Where have I heard that before?” She expects him to be smug, like he used to be, but the words come out empty and dull. And she wonders if dying like she is on the inside is better than what he’s doing. Better than going so far into denial you believe the word “fine” when you tell it to yourself.   
  
“This is not last year,” She hisses at him. “I am not some cheerleader who thinks she’s fat because of a bad weigh-in or is worried about losing her boyfriend to the first solo-hogging brunette who glances at him. And I am certainly not the girl who’s going to get into your truck tonight, and let you feel me up under-the-shirt, over-the-bra because Daddy doesn’t love me enough. So please just leave me alone, because right now I need to be.”   
  
She doesn’t hear him move, but she can hear the New Year’s Countdown start inside.   
  
_“10 - 9 - 8 -”_  
  
She feels his hands on her shoulders, and she realizes he’s giving her his Letterman jacket, hanging it on her so she won’t shiver. She shouldn’t be touched by this, she should feel just as broken and abandoned as always.   
  
_“7 - 6 - 5 - 4 -”_   
  
“You were never that girl to me. You were always Quinn Fabray. Some sort of fallen angel.”   
  
_“3 - 2 - 1”_   
  
She turns around and he’s already gone, the only sign he was even there to begin with is a few imprints of those big bulky boots he’s been wearing (since he got back from juvie, like some kind of statement) in the melting snow.   
  
_“HAPPY NEW YEAR!”_  
  
The jocks scuffle outdoors to light fireworks, knocking her ever which way. And Sam finds her in the middle, laying possibly the worst tasting kiss of her lifetime on her. She thinks she sees Finn and Santana on the doorstep, a familiar looking blond glowering at them a few inches behind. Nothing feels very much better, but maybe a little warmer or a little more real.


End file.
